The Return of the Swiss Ones
by mdc1957
Summary: An Axis Powers Hetalia Alternate History/AU set in Walt M. Miller's post-apocalyptic A Canticle of Leibowitz - Fiat Voluntas Tua. The Swiss supposedly perished in the Flame Deluge. They didn't. And the world braces itself for their reemergence.
1. Chapter 1: 12 April 3781

Author's Note: This actually comes from the forum, though this form is more modified. Think of it as Version 1.5. The story itself was inspired by both the book _A Canticle for Leibowitz_ and ideas from the forum. Without spoiling anything, it's a crossover (of sorts) with _Hetalia_, as well as an alternate history/ alternate universe take on the book's events. Any criticisms and advice is welcome.

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights of any part of _Axis Powers Hetalia_ or Walt Miller's _A Canticle for Leibowitz_. Any similarities and homages belong to their respective owners.

**The Return of the Swiss Ones: A Canticle for Leibowitz sidestory**

_The Year of Our Lord 3781 was to be Earth's final curtain call. Yet history still had one more peculiar secret to unravel. The impact this had on the world at large still remains by some to be seen..._

_- _[Classified]_, Quo Peregrinatur Grex _recording

_Vatican Secret Archives, New Rome. 12 April 3781_

LUCIFER IS FALLEN.

The headline beamed through every corner of the Archives. As fast as the transmissions, it was spoken in everyone's lips. Whispers spread amongst scholar and worker alike; rumors of war were abound. And Monsignor Iovannes Vargas refused to hear anymore of it. He's heard more than enough panic in his lifetime.

It also helped that he knew the details hours before.

The city of Itu Wan was, according to second-hand and encrypted sources, entirely destroyed by a thermonuclear device. Preliminary observations have already ruled out an aerial strike, despite the Atlantic missile launch off the coast. Yet it was against any Asian Coalition standard to let one of their own civilian centers blow up so carelessly. Neither were any of the weapons satellites active during the event. As far as the info was concerned, it was a heinous terrorist act. _Thank God for the Diplomatic Service_, he mused. _If only it stopped there._

He pondered on the last page of the report: the current evidence suggested that the explosion took place _underground_. In fact, the device appeared to have detonated several feet under the central districts. Strange readings from around the vicinity prior to the explosion point to capabilities far beyond mere terrorists. An unsettling tinge struck the monsignor when he first heard it. If he were honest with himself, he still was. There were few, if any, other survivors left from the pre-Deluge world. Yet such thoughts were brushed aside by a speaker's voice.

"_Bonus dies. Messer. Is est a caput capitis prior dico._ His Holiness wishes to see you," the voice promptly intoned. "It concerns both _Quo Peregrinatur Grex_ and Pri-"

"Yes, of course: _Primum sollicitudo_. Please inform him of my immediate arrival. The monks must also be waiting. As well,_ meus ignosco_."

As Msgr. Vargas made his way out, the words echoed in his mind. _Primum sollicitudo_. The Helvetian underworld. The Swiss Ones. True or not, he put his best humane composure. The last thing he needed was more panic, but the thought remained._ Is it really possible that they're finally sending a message? _he mused_. Did you actually make it after all?_


	2. Chapter 2: 10 April 3781

_I wish to reiterate our position on the current political crisis: we will stand down if they will do so first. For the past several decades, tensions between the Atlantic Confederation and the Asian Coalition have kept the world in a state of armed stalemate. I believe, however, that the time for peace between the two powers has come. But should the Asians decide to make any sudden moves against us, rest assured that we will strike back._

- Lord Ragelle, Atlantic High Command Press Statement, 10 April 3781 (58 minutes before detonation)

_Itu Wan. 10 April 3781_

The lights were too dimmed to read. Frank Pirshi needed to calm himself before reporting to his superiors. He was supposed to be Li Xianzhou, a Neo-Mandarin reporter. His mission was to infiltrate a military bunker containing details on alleged Asian satellite activities. Extraction was still hours away. But this did little to ease what happened. _The sooner I get out of this crazed city, the better._

He recalled how it seemed like cakewalk at first. It was to his advantage that the guards were distracted. For a high-security zone, he found it odd how he didn't even need to waste half his clip of ammo to get through. Yet it was unnerving to hear the sounds of gunfire and horrid screams coming from the direction of the cache. He tried sitting it out, forcing himself to stay still, until the commotion died down. He recalled how he was speechless upon entering the cache. It wasn't only the sight of Asians brutally shot (some mauled) that shocked him. For the cache itself was ransacked beyond recognition. The files he came for were practically destroyed. All that was discernible was an "ambush hole" in the lower wall.  
_  
What am I doing_, he tried to reason. There was still an urgent report to make. What he was about to say, Pirshi knew, would cause shockwaves among the top brass in Texarkana. He steeled himself and opened the channel.

"This is Intel Lt. Frank Pirshi. Code 948217B. This is a Priority-1 transmission. Original mission parameters have been compromised. The bunker has been neutralized by a third party..."

He forwarded his attempt to enter the hole. He told of the strange speech heard shortly down the path, into a apparently newly bored tunnel. It was discernibly a language, but of a harsh guttural sound unlike any tongue he's familiar with. It was neither Asian nor Atlantic.

"...neither did it seem all that _human_..."

He spoke of how he was spotted by what appeared to be a scouting party, presumably the one that attacked the guards earlier. They appeared to be hauling some equipment deep into the tunnel. And they saw him. He stopped briefly at the thought. _Shit. The yellow bastards were right after all._ He was lucky to have made his way out to safety.

"Those _beings_. It was too dark for me to get a good look, but it's them. I have seen proof that confirms the old legends and rumors. The Swiss Ones exis...oh God..."

The last thing he saw was the glowing crescent of the moon. And history was made.


	3. Chapter 3: 12 April 3781 II

_But the princes, putting the words of their wise men to naught, thought each to himself: If I but strike quickly enough, and in secret, I shall destroy these others in their sleep, and there will be none to fight back; the earth shall be mine._ _Such was the folly of princes, and there followed the Flame Deluge._

- Unknown Proverb, c. 26th Century AD.

_St. Peter's Basilica, New Rome. 12 April 3781_

"This has to be a cruel joke. The world in on the warpath, and now these Swiss Ones have joined in? Of all the times to put up with t-"

"_Silentium commodo!_" The man Msgr. Vargas quieted was a Br. Gerald Hengly, a novice Leibowitzian member of the Archives. He knew the monk as a usually calm soul, but order had to be maintained. _Even if it pains me and my voice._ "Please keep in mind here that we're in His Presence. We will get to your concerns in an orderly fashion."

"Of course, Messer. _Meus ignosco_. I just wish to know why they would do so now? If all our data is true, they had all those centuries to work on it."

"That, I'm afraid, can't be answered. We don't know what role they play in all this. Even our knowledge of them is woefully incomplete. All I could offer at this time is to make use of what we _do _know. If you may, Doctor Hartriles," nodding to his close aide.

"Gladly. We've been aware of Sub-Helvetia formally for at least 600 years. Of course, we have legends and such tales going back to the Dark Ages. But from what was gathered, here's the summary: before the _Diluvium Ignis_, there was a neutral country called Switzerland, situated in the European Alps. Fragmented documents, some preserved in the Memorabilia, speak of a massive undertaking to shield themselves from the impending war in the years prior. Called the 'System,' it was described as a network of tunnels, bunkers and shelters for the whole nation and perhaps its immediate vicinity. It was apparently seen by much of the world as mere propaganda."

"Please get to the point, Doctor," said Br. Gerald. "Surely 'sufficient' time is fast becoming a luxury."

"Well, the System wasn't fully operational by the time the Deluge came. It was apparently complete enough to allow much of the country to escape. It's likely that topside survivors could have made their way inside during the Simplification. Beyond that, the legends take over. As for physical characteristics, they appear to have pale skin, relatively ape-like faces, sulken-red eyes and a generally lean build. Reports suggest high adrenaline percentages, fast agility acute senses, and possibly a loss of the ability to stand fully upright. We can't ascertain more specific details. But undoubtedly the radiation has left its mark on the Swiss Ones over several generations. Deliberate genetic breeding isn't out of the question."

At this point, Cardinal Hoffstraff of the Extra-Terran Division spoke on the ailing Pope's behalf. "Can we be certain then of reaching out to their humanity?" Msgr. Vargas signaled his aide to let himself answer.

"Are we sure they're still human, as we know them anyway? I don't know if they're like the mutants or the misborn, dear Cardinal. That mystery, I guess, will reveal itself in due time."

"There is still the matter of the crisis, Iovannes," the Cardinal reminded. For a moment, he noticed how frail he's become over the years. _But then again, he's always looked like this ever since seminary. My mind must be playing tricks._ He returned to the topic at hand. "It should be no surprise for all of us that Atlantic High Command knows of the situation. They're now aware of Sub-Helvetia's existence. But if the latest ticker from the Diplomatic Service is anything to come by, Texarkana suspects Asian 'collaboration' as well. It doesn't help that the missile launch took place not far from Itu Wan. At least the Swiss Ones' revelation has delayed any immediate 'response,' if you could call it that."

"We just have to make sure it _stays _that way until we could solve this whole mess. In any case, please have _Quo Peregrinatur Grex_ on standby." The Messer's voice grew hollow and detached . "If need be, advise the Pope for its full activation. I have a feeling this matter won't be sealed for long."

Msgr. Vargas made his way down the steps of the Basilica when a uniformed man handed a simple envelope. Reading it in the waiting car, he found only a short strip of paper, noting that the Atlantic observatories in the Alps were just overrun. Apparently, odd underground readings were found before the assault. The Messer could only sigh.

_If you're who I think you are, what are you really up to, Schwyz?_


	4. Interlude: The Expedition Dialogues

_The following comes from a transcript retrieved, in damaged condition, from a private collector's library outside of New Rome. After months of restoration, I am pleased to announce the success of our efforts. The record dates from the Central European Expedition (AD 3152-53). It has been identified as a dialogue between Fr. William Hanbeck and Msgr. Iovannes Vargas. We have reason to believe that either the scribe himself or one of his assistants noted this down for posterity. Due to the nature of this find, special treatment is advised._

_-Dr. Mark Sakharey, Proctor of Historical Studies, VSA Special Records Division, 24 October 3643_

_Note: This passage is estimated to have taken place around May '52 of that journey. Annotations are included when necessary.- Ed._

_From __The Expedition Dialogues_

[Fr. Hanbeck]: Your grace, it is not my place to be so blunt as to inquire your expertise. Yet surely, there is more to this than dead languages,* are there not?

[Msgr. Vargas]: Please ease the formalities, my good man. It is but a case of recalling old memories. Perhaps it's a helpful aid that the tongues you speak off are descended from Latin. One need not be an expert to notice certain similarities.

H: Yes, Messer. I do not doubt that years of experience and exposure to the Archives has guided you. But your familiarity with them astounds me. Your apparent ease in switching languages connotes considerable time in the places of origin. The words themselves seem to come off _natural_, as though you've learned them from a native.

V: Ha! It's true, in a sense. From my younger days on, I've learned many tongues. That, I am certain. And indeed, this meant travelling to places where they were spoken. Though I've largely forgotten some of these, to my regret, others remain ingrained in one form or the other. Some of them changed over time while retaining a sense of consistency. You learn that no matter how different the words are, there are meanings that are universal. Some at least, but they are there. In the same way that _logos_ and reason connote a singular idea. Or perhaps even a word like _sibah_.``

H: That last word is Hebrew if I'm not mistaken. But as you surely know, there are few Jewish communities in these times. It's difficult for outsiders to stay in their midst, let alone enter.

V: It is correct. Though I re-tuned my skills whenever I had the chance. And in those cases, it was with just one Jew.

H: Pray tell, Messer: with whom?

V: Simply an old man by the name of Benjamin, my child.

_*Old Italian and the dialects closely related to it_  
_``From the Hebrew alphabet form of __סיבה_


	5. Chapter 4: 2 May 3152

_Even during the Dark Ages, there was communication, scant as it was, with the missionaries on Europe's fringes. But it was not until nearly a thousand years after the Flame Deluge that the priests and explorers from New Rome succeeded in establishing stable footholds from which to survey the Continent. While it was already accepted that the Deluge caused at least as much widespread devastation in Europe as elsewhere, its true extent and impact only revealed itself in time._

- Dr. Jonathan Hartriles. _A History of the Post-Deluge World_. Vatican Secret Archives. AD 3774.

_Ruins along the Upper Rhine, Alpine Region. 2 May 3152_

Fr. William Hanbeck heard the sound of muffled gunfire. At least he recognized it as such. Interlaced with the crackling of rifles was the strange hum of those sounds in rapid succession. Such was that peculiar interplay, reminiscent of some ethereal play. He found it odd, especially since hardly anyone apart from stray nomads lived in the surrounding area. Yet there was more relevant work to do. It helped that the commotions came from above the ridge.

_At least they're doing their jobs well_, the scribe thought approvingly. He and the accompanying monks proceeded to clear the remaining glass and rubble. They found themselves staring over a chasm that hasn't seen sunlight in over a thousand years. _Might as well lead by example_. Grabbing a rope, he lowered himself down into the darkness.

Torch lamp on hand, he began assessing the surroundings. No booby traps or lethal devices were to be found. _Old Boedullus would have been relieved to hear that_. At the far corners, he saw blocked doorways to what could be artifact vaults. The chamber itself was relatively intact, if not for the dust and glass that covered the floor. The room was filled with shattered screens and assortments of worn-down machinery. Here and there also were skeletons, some still with tattered garments, and the detritus of a more enlightened age. The place seemed ideal for archeological research. For a moment, he thought of how Blessed Francis Gerard of Utah might have felt upon finding the famed Shelter. As the man cleared the entryway, he shouted out to the reluctant monks. "Gentlemen, it looks like you have more additions to your Memorabilia."

Much time was spent sifting through whatever felt solid to be retrievable. To the dismay of of the team, only a few of the relics were anything resembling written or printed material. Of these, Fr. Hanbeck noticed, all were written in a strange language unlike Latin or pre-Deluge English, despite the use of the same alphabet. He coyly tried to pronounce some words from a diary fragment.

_Wir können nicht machen, es hinunter. Gott erlöse uns..._

A growing sense of unease had him crumpling the fragment in front of the monks. A bookish Leibowitzian novice by the name of Br. Sean Wellins, took greater offence than the others. "What have you done, father?"

The scribe tried to make a convincing excuse. "It was just a shred of random scribbles, brother. Nothing of significance," he finally said. The young man simply shrugged and returned to work. _That seemed to satisfy him. There's no room for twisted legends here. Have to change topic._ The man noticed the novice wrapping up some bits, pieces and a strange metal object, rectangular in shape, in heavy parchment._ Looks valuable_. As he was about to ask, a call came from the opening.

"The intruders have slipped through! Th-" It was cut off by the same rapid crackling heard earlier, followed by an eerily similar speech. The team found themselves dumbfounded as two human-esque creatures proceeded to climb down nimbly into the opening. One of the monks managed to fire a pistol at the one holding the rapid-gun upon entry, killing it instantly. Unfortunately, this left the remaining one charging towards Sean. Until Fr. Hanbeck managed to break its momentum with his shovel. He rushed to help the novice with his valuable find, while ordering the rest to leave. "Take everything you've collected and head to the surface!_ IAM!_ I'll meet you there shortly." _This wasn't supposed to happen. Those things were supposed to be fables!_ As the two made their way to out, they saw the creature ready to lurch at them, making a gruntish screech.

_"Jetz isch färtig luschtig!"*_

*CRACK!*

The body slumped back into the darkness as the Monsignor set aside his rifle to greet them. Fr. Hanbeck noticed briefly how he seemed too agile for his age. He set the thought aside as he helped Sean out to the waiting hands of the spectators. "You'll get by, Brother Librarian," using the nickname heard from the other Leibowitzians.

-o-

"I'm sorry those bandits had to slip through. They're a quick-footed lot, yes?"

"Bandits, Messer? Surely there's a more interesting way of describing what happened down there. I don't think my account of it would do justice."

The Monsignor chuckled wryly. "I guess it's pointless to tell you how much of those old tales were true. You've seen them yourself. The Swiss Ones, indeed. Oh yes, you've come to show me something 'peculiar,' Fr. Hanbeck?"

The man presented and unrolled the novice's heavy parchment. Before both of them was spread the rectangular object, surrounded by fragments of presumably the same type. For a brief moment, the scribe thought he saw his host's eyes react in shock.

"Do you recognize it?"

The Messer appeared to hesitate for a moment before continuing as though nothing happened. "Let's just say it's an ancient storage device, my good father. It's one of those peculiar things yet beyond our capabilities of reading."

"Isn't it always, Msgr. Vargas?"

"Please be less formal with it, my child."

* * *

*Swiss German for "Now the fun is over!"


	6. Chapter 5: 14 April 3781

_One crucial key in verifying the System's existence was a seemingly obscure notebook remnant in the Memorabilia. Christened "the Helvetic Notes," we believe that it belonged to an intrepid reporter whose name is lost to time. The contents of the papers themselves reveal precious hints into both pre-Deluge politics and the System. Apparently the latter was seen either as an absurd conspiracy or a pipe dream by Switzerland against a world hurtling towards war. One recurring name throughout was a certain "Zwingli, V." What role this man had in all this remains a mystery._

_- _Abbot Marcus Santiago AOL,_ Commentary on the Helvetic Notes._ c. 3702.

_Outside the VSA Special Records Vault, Undisclosed Location. 14 April 3781_

_-unconfirmed reports continue to leak out from the Itu Wan quarantine site. Nearby naval vessels yesterday forwarded scenes of what appeared to be armed confrontation in the vicinity, fueling rumors on the so-called Swiss Ones. Asian diplomats refuse to comment on the situation. In other news, Lord Ragelle will be scheduling a press conference in-*click*  
_  
_War and rumors of war. What else is new?_, Msgr. Vargas thought wryly.

The road leading to the topside entrance was normally empty save for official business. Yet it didn't surprise the Monsignor to find a blockade close to the gate. He recognized the stenciled markings as that of the Royal Defence Corps. _The elite agents of the Hannegans. I've had more shocking surprises back in the day. _He put on a mild, unassuming smile and left his seat.

"Good day, officers. I'm sure that there's a reason behind this little mishap, yes?" The men were quick to notice the hints.

"I guess that spares us the trouble." It was the commander, Captain Handirk Ellis. "You're surely aware of the details on the Asian Condition a few days back. But the Mayoral Court has suspicions that you and the Church possess more knowledge than what you're playing up. Our own databases point to the Church having some existing data on the _real _culprits prior to the incident, among other things."

"Is that what High Command calls the whole thing? My pardon, but that's creative, Captain."

"Let's just get to the chase. We _know _about the Swiss Ones. You have the answers, and we need them. Now, come with us quietly."

"_Meus ignosco_, Captain. I'm afraid that those answers aren't with me. For one, the role they play in the whole matter remains baffling. Looking into the legends doesn't really help much in finding motive. I'm just as clueless as you are with the whole thing. And if there's any information on hand that's relevant to solving this crisis, we don't have it." _Not relevant to you, at least._

"Really now, Messer? With all due respect, don't take me for a fool. I'm all too familiar with such lines in this kind of work. And don't think that your age will make me all the more forgiving. So what makes you think that I'd believe what was just said?" The Monsignor smirked slightly.

"'Take my word for it' never did cut it, after all these years," he replied in pre-Deluge English. "You can also skip my title in this regard, Captain. Please think about this for a moment: if I happened to know the answer to the mystery before us, why would I drive all the way here to look for them? Frankly, whatever's found in that vault would more likely shock you than give keys to the solution. If that doesn't help, you're free to check the car to your heart's content. And I know you understand this."

Capt. Ellis simply shrugged and ordered his men to scan the vehicle. All the while, the Messer smiled patiently. There was nothing out of the ordinary._ Save for a bag, clean. __Spotless_. "Alright, we got the message. We'll let you go for now. But try to let us in on your research or whatever it is you're up to."

"'Give to Caesar what's Caesar's'...please kindly send Caesar my regards."

As the Monsignor turned back towards the car, the Captain made one last remark.

"As a head's up Messer, Texarkana never really warmed up to you. I don't want to imaging the reaction there on this."

"I personally doubt his predecessors would have done the opposite to him, Captain. Good day."

-o-

Dr. Hartriles and Br. Gerald rushed to meet Msgr. Vargas at the lobby. For a few moments, he seemed to look more aged than he already was. The two also noticed a tinge of apprehension in his otherwise calm stride.

"I hope you didn't wait long, _liberalis_," he said. "There was a slight inconvenience outside."

Br. Gerald was the first to reply. "No worries, Messer. We're glad that you arrived safely, thanks be to God. But why did you send us out here beforehand? In fact, _why _did you choose me?"

"It's because I trust you, as a Leibowitzian, to be part of this endeavor. Including you, my good Doctor," turning to his aide. "What happens here is crucial in uncovering the Swiss Ones' dilemma, however little comes out of it. _Quo Peregrinatur_ might very well depend on it."

"Of course, Messer," said the monk, recalling his role in that project.

"Now, I must warn you that the contents of the Vault are among the most private, enigmatic and haunting of the Archives' collection. God knows, there is a good reason _why _they're down there. Whenever you're ready Doctor, please proceed to the elevator."

"Are we looking for anything in particular?"

"Let's say for now that the resources are there to look at. We'll all know soon enough."

The Monsignor took a deep breath as the doors closed. _There's no point in recalling the danger of going back. Neither will thinking about it help. What else is new?_


	7. Chapter 6: 11 February 3178

_Vatican Secret Archives, New Rome. 11 February 3178_

It was among the last finds of the Expedition. A tapestry given by wayward Christian traders at the farthest point reached in Europe. _At the time,_ Bishop William Hanbeck reminded himself. It had been a generation since he first laid eyes on it: an image of a doomed but valiant horseman charging towards a vague horizon. As much has he admired it, it didn't offer any answer to the reason why he was here in the first place.

A few days earlier, he recalled, he received a summon from the inner chambers of the Archives for God knows what reason. _It definitely doesn't involve staring blankly at this. _But before long, he heard the sounds of footsteps. What unnerved him was how _familiar _those steps where. And the one making them.

"_Bonus dies, meus carus pontifex."_ The man before him turned out to be Msgr. Iovannes Vargas. Or at least someone nigh identical to him, in the eyes of the bishop. The fact that this aged clergyman looked almost exactly the same way as he did all those years before only added to the shock. All he could do was mask his discomfort.

"_Deo gratias._ It really has been a long time. Time...has been gracious to you." _He should have been dead long ago. __This couldn't really be him._

"Well, thank you my child," he said grinning. "I'm a tad surprised to find you early. The assembly is still less than an hour away. So please, take your time and make yourself at ease."

"Er, of course, Messer." The more he observed, the more unsettling the implications became. From the Messer's graying hair to his worn posture, it was exactly as the bishop remembered. Even small points like his peculiar protruding cowlick matched. It was logical then that the one before him was the same one who joined the Expedition. _It was the only thing that made sense._ And it disturbed him. _I have to change the topic. _He looked back at the tapestry.

The Messer in turn approached his side and noticed the relic. "You know William, there's an interesting story behind that work. You recall that, yes?" The bishop shrugged lightly.

"_Rumex_, Messer. I'm afraid my mind's not as sharp as it had been."

"Of course, my child. It's not like I remember every single inkling of it as well. Time has also taken its toll on me as well. In any case, the fine folks who gave that told me of the tales behind its figure, _Ostatnie Huzar_. 'The Last Hussar.' They go all the way back to the Simplification. In those days, so they said, the land was ravaged by leftover warriors and the Mobs. Their ancestors struggled in vain to fend off these hordes. Until this titular horseman came practically out of nowhere to stop the enemies from overrunning a village. And for a time, he defended them against these barbarians." By this point, the bishop noticed his host's voice grow strained, despite the otherwise calm tone.

"There were anecdotes of people somehow recognizing the hussar wherever he went. Some stories referred to his peculiar manner of speech. All, however, spoke of how he appeared to fade and crumble away as time wore on. His fate seemed tied to the land he had spent his life in, so it went. And at long last he made one final charge, lance in hand, at a mass of oncoming Simpletons. He was never seen again." His own control seemed to slip for an instant, before an almost trance-like restraint took hold. "No one found his remains. All else about this Last Hussar vanished long ago. His own words, origins, and even his face were lost, in a sense, to oblivion. No one even knows his name. Yet his legend endured...even outlasting the language it was originally from."

The bishop however, felt all the more unsettled at the brief silence that followed. Then he heard the Messer mutter under his breath, _"Polska, Deus reperio vos sileo."_

His look betrayed something along the lines of, _I knew all along, Messer. _Yet all he could say was, "You always were...off-putting, to say the least." The Monsignor simply offered a nod and a wry smile. _He knew as well._  
_  
"_And you stayed strong amidst it all, William Hanbeck. I guess that's why I picked you for this new honor, " said the Messer as he slid effortlessly into English. "In these times, it's growing more difficult to protect the Church's ward, especially with the Nomads and Texarkana having delusions of power. The Leibowitzians alone could only do so much. It was supposed to be said in the assembly, but His Holiness and I decided to form a new office in charge of the more _special_ artifacts in our care."

"I don't understand, Messer. Surely, you must be jesting. Of all the clergy, why me?"

"Because you're one of the few people I trust in overseeing these relics, as well as keeping _certain _personal matters private. Can I count on you, Proctor?" For a moment, the bishop felt a sense of warmth and sincere gratitude.

"_Nimirum_, Msgr. Iovannes Vargas. _Permissum is fio_."

-o-

As the two walked towards the assembly, the Messer whispered one more aside to his new Proctor. "For your information, your office will also be in charge of decoding anything and everything on the Swiss Ones. This includes the Recording."

The bishop knew exactly what he referred to. "I guess it is still beyond our capacity to read?"

"Yes. I'm afraid that will to wait." _Long after I'm gone, _the Proctor thought. He didn't push it further. _I hope you find whatever is in there someday. _The man looked one more time at the tapestry far behind them.

"Feliks."

"Messer?"

"He was named Feliks, in case you're wondering, my child."


	8. Interlude: The Recording

_The following is the only direct Archives entry of The Recording available. Due to its certain nature, it was deemed necessary to omit many confidential details. But rest assured, much effort was made to keep this as complete as possible. -Ed. _

_VSA Catalogue File #19600V-FL: The Recording_

Date Found: 2 May 3152

Location of Discovery: +47° 8' 23.56", +9° 31' 49.68" (Alpine Region)

Type: Audio-Visual storage device

Status: Functional

Current Location: Special Records Vault

Content Summary: [CLASSIFIED]

General Data

The Recording is exactly what it purports to be: an audio-visual account from the time of the Flame Deluge. It is the only one of its kind left from the pre-Deluge world. Until its discovery and since, the only other records found were audio-based, most of which poorly preserved. It was recovered in good condition during the Central European Expedition after an armed encounter in the Alps. To this day it remains one of the more baffling and unsettling relics in the Archives.

Upon close examination of the physical tape, it was found to be made shortly before the Deluge; approximately 78% of its components date to the mid-1960s. In addition, said components bear similarities to mechanical fragments and other relics from other sites in the Alpine Region. It is likely that its original purpose was to preserve outgoing transmissions for posterity. Little verifiable evidence remains, however, at the site of its discovery. Later research suggest [CLASSIFIED]. Current theories hint to a connection with the mysterious Swiss Ones, of which information is scarce. Such is the only lead to its creators.

The Recording was kept under special storage in the St. Leibowitz Abbey until the early 36th Century, when technological advances made it possible to reveal its true contents. Despite this, it took several years of error and Leibowitzian aid before the first successful test run of the interface. Reports of hearing garbled screams in the first audio tests were initially taken by researchers as "over-ecstatic" exaggerations.

The Viewing

The Recording's first "actual" viewing took place in New Rome at 4:00 PM, 12 November 3566. Among the select group of scholars were representatives from the St. Leibowitz Abbey and [CLASSIFIED]. A minute-by-minute analysis revealed the Recording to be a stream of broadcast messages from...[CLASSIFIED]

In summary, it contains an invaluable lens into the world just as the Deluge began. Reactions ranged from astonishment to horrid shock, prompting the Archives to restrict viewing for "highly-important purposes." As of this time, there have...[CLASSIFIED]

Those who are given clearance to view the Recording are forbidden by oath to leak its haunting details.


	9. Chapter 7: 14 April 3781 II

_VSA Special Records Vault, Undisclosed Location. 14 April 3781_

Aside from the occasional open panel, revealing small sections of the complex, the elevator shaft was decidedly opaque and featureless. As it descended slowly towards the residential quarters, Br. Gerald couldn't help but observe his compatriots. To his left was Dr. Hartriles, the aging but otherwise by-the-books aide. He never was on good terms with the man. Yet he admired his devotion to duty and tremendous experience . _At least the __Messer chose wisely_, he quietly acknowledged as he focused on the ancient figure. And then the thought came back: _What are you really hiding?_

Ever since the monk's first meeting with the Messer, there had been a nagging sense that something was out of place; he always regretted that attention to detail. It was true that the Messer often smiled and was generally a welcome presence in the Archives. Yet as much as he sought to offer assistance of any kind, he always seemed to carry an air of detachment. There were also times where he seemed to vanish and reappear out of nowhere, catching people by surprise. _Not all the time_, he thought, _but if I know him, it was frequent enough_. _Yet come to think of it, I don't really know much about him at all._

He tried to mentally piece together the shreds of this enigma. The Messer's apparently perpetually worn, aged appearance was the least of his concerns. _It was his background_, the monk reasoned, _that was in question_. If his accent hinted at anything, he wasn't a native of New Rome; yet it was impossible to trace where he came from. His own pedigree and status seemed to suggest a record far longer and continuous than any scholar, professional or priest. The fact that an official birth certificate for "Iovannes Vargas" was nowhere to be found in the Archives made it all the more suspicious.

His childhood was just as baffling. As far as Br. Gerald knew, much of his early years were spent around clergy and the occasional noble in God knows where. His _pater_, so he heard, had been an avid warrior and womanizer whom he nonetheless thought of fondly; there was no mention of a mother. The only other aspect known to anyone was that "at one point," he had two younger nephews from another sibling. Yet there was little to suggest even that, outside of the figure himself saying, "They're long gone." Aside from these, his past was suspiciously blank. As far as the monk knew, he practically came out of nowhere. The more he thought about it, it grew increasingly sensible. _Just who are you, really?_

"Is there something, my child?" the Messer inquired. All of a sudden, he seemed more fatigued than usual.

"Nothing." The monk tried to hide his shock in with a slight grin. _The last thing I need is to compromise the crisis this early. _If there were any signs of suspicion in his superior's voice, it was coyly masked. "If you may, I would like to ta-"

Just then, the elevator doors opened to reveal the main corridor of the quarters. He heard the Messer mutter, "I guess we may have to discuss that another time." _Did he know? _he mused. _It would have to come out eventually._ They were soon met by a handful of uniformed scholars meant as the welcoming committee.

"Welcome to the Vault, Monsignor. Gentlemen. We've already made the necessary arrangements for your rooms and the records. But it must have been an exhausting journey. in the meantime, please come with us for supper. Rest for a while. "

"_Deo gratias_," replied the aged clergyman. He gave a tired smirk before continuing. "As much as we need to go through them I guess _that _may have to wait for tomorrow. Do as you will."

"Of course. Right this way."

-o-

As Br. Gerald made his way back to his quarters, many things circled in his head. Food was savory but not sinful. The Alps had been quarantined by order of Atlantic High Command. Tensions remained high between the Powers. Rumors on Sub-Helvetia were starting to leak into the public channels. All the while, the Messer seemed too tired through the meal, yet insisted on forcing himself to enjoy...

But when he crossed the Messer's unit, all his attention went to the muffled sounds permeating through the door.

"...18...I'm sorry...couldn't save any one of you...wasn't my fault..._kyrie eleison..._sorry_..._"

One thought lingered as he rushed away: _What are you?_


	10. Chapter 8: 21 July 3493

_ St. Bernard Children's School, Valana. 21 July 3493_

The schoolchildren didn't mind having an elderly clergyman join in on their games. Nice, friendly and cheerful-looking, he wasn't like most of the other teachers there. True, he had only been "given the assignment" for a week, and intended to stay for another. Yet for his young watch, it seemed like an endless break from the usual monotony. _I guess the sentiment's mutual_, thought the Messer. But it was not long after classes were ended that one of the teachers approached him, concerning the arrival of a strange visitor. The man, he was told, had been waiting for him in the inner garden. Even if he wasn't told who the stranger was, there was a feeling that he knew _exactly _who this guest was. Thus, after requesting total privacy, he promptly made his way.

Before him was a bearded old man, wearing little more than a loincloth and jacket made of burlap, and a cryptic grin that seemed to defy description. In contrast to the surroundings, the man looked as though he stepped out of another world. Another time. He noticed the guest's weathered yet sharp eyes move towards him. Even after several years, he still found that gaze piercing; it was one that hinted of wisdom, patience and utter loneliness. If there were any similarities between the two, there was at least this.

"It's been a while, old friend," he greeted in Latin. "Still going at your job?"

"I haven't crossed paths with you for eight decades and _that's _the first thing you ask? _Zolst ligen in drerd!_"

For a moment he tried recalling the language used (_Yiddish, was it?_). "Come now. Shouldn't _we _be getting used to this by now?" The two embraced each other eagerly. Both noted wryly how they seemed to look as though they met the previous day. "After all my good man, it hasn't been _that _long since our last meeting."

"Hmmm-_hnnn! _Pleasantries are hardly seen these days, but they're tiring. I guess you must be wondering why I've trekked all the way up here to."

He smirked. "I take it has to be more than just taking a respite from the desert?"

"That too. You want I should also speak of heat and exhaustion like every other person? Even a wanderer needs a break every now and then. Your excuse is likely the same thing, anyway. Except you'd want some momentary break from the pressures in New Rome. Heh." The old man sat on one of the benches. "Besides, that nonsense on New Rome being 'New' ought to be dropped. It's only recent in the same way _you _are."

He was right, in any case. He had passed through that city in all it incarnations. He saw it when the first bricks had not yet succumbed to grime and decay. He was there when the original still stood on those seven hills in many of _its _forms. He also did boast on meeting none other than Rome himself. _But so have I, old friend. _

"If I were to drop it now, it would be redundant." He momentarily paused to level his voice. "But allow me to be straight-forward. You did not come here to castigate me on city names and old animosities. And more often than not, I'd bump into you, rather than the opposite. So what do you want?"

"It concerns you and the Recording."

He didn't need any clarification. "If I'm not mistaken, that information is still on a need to know basis."

"One sees, one hears," he said matter of factly. He could have simply taken the detail from some loose-tongued Leibowitzian. Yet the Messer knew otherwise; it was one of the few things certain about the old man. _No point in arguing over that again._

"All I can say is that we're close to finally solving that riddle. But you undoubtedly know more than that, yes?"

"So you've just answered your own question. _Gantseh megilleh_." His eyes narrowed. "Now I give my own: what do you know about the place that relic was found?"

"Nothing much really. Our archeologists have only found a handful of traces of a town below the site. Estimates there suggest-"

"Hmmm-_hnnn! _I didn't ask what your men found there. What do _you _know?" There was a hint both of spite and remorse in his voice. Which one was which was difficult to tell. And for a few moments, the clergyman hesitated.

"I...don't remember much. There had been a town there before the _Diluvium Ignis,_ yes. Vaduz, I believe it was called. I may have been around that region a few times. And there was always this young adolescent-looking girl in the distance walking alongside a taller blond haired man. The partner was somewhat recognizable, but I can't recall who she was, or how she actually looked like..."

Sometimes, he wanted respite from _that _as well_. _He knew much of the Vatican's true history - Church records, saints, popes and mishaps - better than most scholars. _I was there, after all_. Yet outside that, his memories were still scattered. It had taken him a thousand years to remember that Saint Bernard was Swiss. That the _Schwyz _had always called those distant mountains home. That there was a love-hate relationship between him and Austria. That one of them was still alive somewhere. And that he missed them, countless generations after the fact. With each passing century, such cases grew more frequent. But they were never entirely recovered; it was normally just enough to either recognize them or haunt his inner recesses. _All because someone decided to trigger Armageddon with the push of a button. If not for the damn Deluge..._

"...I must be rambling on about again," he smiled. "You wanted to tell me something important. Please do so now." _The sooner we're through with this the better._

"If you want words of wisdom, have this then: That Recording was never meant for _you_. It was meant for someone specifically in mind. _Eloihim _only know who that's intended for. But this much I know: there are things we want to recall. And there are those that are better left forgotten. And those best kept private. One need not be _goyim _to know that." _Or a Nation_.

There was a noticeable tinge of sorrow in the old man's voice. It was one that seemed to scream "Don't do it." _But what do I have to lose now? _He let out a wry, tired laugh. "I'll keep that in mind, old friend. It's just...I need to _know_. There has to be more to 15 centuries ago than a blinding painful flash."

"I can't speak for the dead. You know that, Iovannes."

"Of course."

-o-

The old man refused the offer to stay in the dormitory for the night. But the Messer knew better than test the patience of the only living _human _connection he had left from the pre-Deluge world; he was also the one who may very well outlive him and the pitiful handful of survivors eventually. As they bade farewell, he thought of clearing one more enigma.

"You never did like it whenever I said 'go in peace,' Benjamin bar Eleazar. Or have you abandoned that kin of yours along with Leibowitz?"

A cryptic smile returned to the Jew's face. "Leibowitz never _was _a kin of mine. But you could say that Benjamin was. If you're that lazy, what do I care? Might as well call me Lazarus." They embraced one more time. And as he left, Iovannes thought he heard "And I'm not Israel, as that abbot of yours claimed. I haven't seen _her _since you first came here."

* * *

Notes:

Valana - From the sequel/midquel _Saint Leibowitz and the Wild Horse Woman_. In the novel, it served as the Vatican's refuge in the Rocky Mountains, following Texarkana's invasion of New Rome.

_Zolst ligen in drerd - _Drop dead.

_Gantseh megilleh - _Big shot_._

_Goyim - _Gentiles.


End file.
